


FINALLY, They Kiss for Real

by Goodneighbor_Neighbor (Fan_by_Proxy)



Series: Commonwealth Canons (Yvette) [7]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, First Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24329227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan_by_Proxy/pseuds/Goodneighbor_Neighbor
Summary: The first 100% "I have feelings for you", unquestionably romantic kiss between the Sole and Hancock...right before she risks certain death because when is there a better time to declareje t'adore?
Relationships: John Hancock & Female Sole Survivor, John Hancock/Female Sole Survivor
Series: Commonwealth Canons (Yvette) [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737616
Kudos: 23





	FINALLY, They Kiss for Real

The platform sparked and sputtered, thrumming and rattling against the ground, making the rubble around it dance, and generally looking like a lot of questionable science and bad ideas. If there had still been hair on the back of Hancock’s neck, it’d be standing out hard enough to jump right off his body. He looked at Yvette, standing beside him with that nerve twitching in her cheek the way it did when she was all tensed up, and decided to risk the words that had stifled the chill on his last hit of Jet. “Yvette…beautiful, are you _sure_ you wanna step on that?”

Her head turned slowly towards him, eyes tired and sad and angry all at once. “ _Jean_ , I have to.” she said simply.

Hancock took a deep drag of his cigarette, let the smoke really soak in before blowing it away from her. “Look, I can’t say what I’d do if I were you; can’t even try to _imagine_ what’s going on inside you right now. I just…if this goes wrong, if this shit blows up instead of doing what your pal says it’s gonna do, and you’re just vaporized…” Hancock trailed off in a stammer as words failed him. He didn’t know what he’d do if that happen; didn’t know how he’d get up the next day, or the day after, or the day after that if she was just _gone._ It was a complicated feeling, deep and heavy and immune to the chems, and sometimes Hancock thought maybe she felt it too.

Because they _talked_ to each other, _really_ talked to each other; he’d finally told her about his fuck-up of all fuck-ups, about the constant nagging guilt over the ghouls he hadn’t been able to help before _and_ now, and even about some of the shit that scared him that he didn’t tell _anybody_ \--not just the feral shit, the lonely shit too. She’d turned around and told him about her nightmares, about bombs and bullets and the constant sensation of being watched; about pre-war shit, her so far away from her family and roots, trying to do the home-and-wife thing with constant side-eyes and ol’ Marty’s sometimes unpredictable moods to boot. Hancock and her, they’d yelled at each other and argued and misunderstood and come back together for a while now; had had each others backs, tried to take care of each others wounds, binding their scars together.

All of that set off feelings in him that were coming out today, one way or another. “I told you before, I’m with you, whatever you do.” Hancock said. “I just…”

Yvette shifted to face him fully, unfolding her arms and reaching out to take his hands. He let her, let her lace her fingers with his. “ _Jean_ …I carried Shaun in here, in _me_ ,” she began, pressing their joined hands to her stomach, “for nine months, and some days after. I fed him with this body; he is quite literally my flesh and my blood, and he was stolen from me. The other part of him, the other part of _me_ , murdered. This is revenge, and motherhood, and-and-and righteousness, and everything all muddled together. I have to step on that platform, I have to take that risk, no matter what misgiving I have because I _have_ to. That is all I can say for it. I _have_ to.” she repeated.

Hancock squeezed her hands, doing that instead of wrapping his arms around her and hanging on until the Railroad crew came up with a better plan. Yvette was a force of nature, a Rad-storm in denim and leather and cotton and lace; he knew goddamn well that there was nothing anyone anywhere could do to stop her when she was determined to do something. Hell, that was a decent chunk of the reason why he liked her so well. Even if he did grab onto her, hold her in a bear hug, he wouldn’t be able to do it forever; wouldn’t be able to keep her safe in the long run. But not saying anything and just letting her step onto the sparking, creaking platform; that would’ve been the Big Unforgivable, the thing that’d do him in. “I just…don’t wanna lose you to this, ya know?”

Yvette nodded, looking down as she ran her thumbs along the backs of his hands. As the platform had come together, something had changed between them. The flirting and the joking still happened, but there had been many more of these soft, quiet moments. Moments when Hancock let her hold onto him and was quiet with her. He called her ‘beautiful’ for her name with a lilt that seemed to be only for her. She had thought, after waking up the second time a widow, that that was it for her. That there was nothing left in the ruined world that would give her the kind of settled warmth that Martin had; that there wouldn’t be another person after because how could any living soul compare? But then came Hancock: gruff, playful, dangerous, seductive, _solid_ Hancock. He touched off a spark of something familiar, something needy and warm and wild. The only hesitation left was the worry that it was one-sided. Standing there, beside Tinker Tom’s best cobbled-together handiwork, with Hancock admitting any kind of fear aloud with people around…maybe the feelings were not so one-sided after all. So Yvette let go of his hands to reach up and cup his face gently. “I _will_ come back from this. I _will_ come back to Goodneighbor. To you.” she said firmly.

Hancock swallowed, feeling the burn of those pretty Atomic Blues™ all over his face. She was eyeing him like they were about to have a shootout. Her hands on his cheeks, all soft and warm without a touch of grit around the fingertips, it made his nerves jump like too many Mentats on top of a bellyful of pop. “Alright.” he managed to choke out.

Yvette let go of him, turning back towards the platform.

Hancock’s fingers twitched, nearly coming up, ready to wrap around a belt loop--hell, grab her by the arm or the hair. Anything to stop her, slow her down, buy a couple seconds’ worth of time _just in case_ this all went the worst kind of wrong.

“Alright, we’re ready! I mean we’re as ready as we’re gonna get, as long as the jennies hold out!” Tom called. “But it’s gonna be fast…and it might tingle. A lot. Never mind, you’ll be _fine_!” he cheered. “Just remember to keep arms, hands, legs, limbs inside the beam and uh…try not to flinch!”

“Don’t forget the data; we _need_ that terminal access.” Desdemona added, pressing a holotape into her hand. “Once you’re in, we won’t be able to track you, so _be careful_.”

Yvette nodded, tucking the holotape into her shirt. She moved closer to the platform, raised her foot to step up…and stopped. If ever there was a time for boldness, it was right before one stepped onto a hodge-podge piece of equipment meant to disappear one to parts unknown. She turned around smartly, closing the distance between her and Hancock in two small steps, then obliterated it completely with a kiss. If she survived, there would be a lot to talk about and she would say it as baldly as she could: ‘I love you’. If she didn’t…well at least she had done this, and there would be no question that her heart was open to him.

 _Nothing_ had him set up for this: Yvette throwing herself into him bodily, arms around his neck, lips to his like she was trying to steal them right off. Hancock’s arms went around her without thinking, tight and fierce, so physically aware of the tension across her back that he couldn’t help but rub it; at least one of her hands was actually _on_ his head and Hancock wondered for half a second where the hell his hat had gone. But it didn’t really matter all that much; if it wasn’t her breath on his cheek and the taste of her spit, it didn’t fucking matter. 

Somewhere in the background, someone whistled. Someone else called out that there wasn’t time for this. None of it mattered.

Yvette broke the kiss slowly, scanning Hancock’s face. Then she smiled softly, set the tricorn back on his head neatly, and gave him a little nod before reluctantly pulling away and springing onto the platform. She kissed her fingertips and showed them to Hancock, to send him another kiss as harsh light blurred her vision and the world started to come apart.

Heart racing, lips burning, Hancock made a big step towards the platform. Somebody grabbed his arm hard and dragged him back from it as the best kiss he’d had in a long time disappeared.

“ _Whoa_ buddy, there’s barely room on there for her. Hang back with me, alright?”

Hancock turned with a snap and a snarl. He didn’t quite recognize the guy holding onto his arm; one of Yvette’s Railroad crew guys, liked to play dress-up. Had a name like Diego? Or something like that.

“Hey, I get it, I get it--that was some kiss, I almost jumped on there for her.” the guy said with a grin. “She’s coming back, alright? Crazy chicks like that, they don’t go down easy, right?”

“And if she doesn’t?” Hancock seethed.

“We get some shovels, dig her out of the hole. Back-up plans Hancock, we got backup plans for days, ok?”

Hancock rubbed his mouth and his chin, staring past Diego’s shoulder at nothing. Contingency plans, huh? He didn’t like it, but if they had some, and they had to be put into action, Hancock would be right there with them. “Yeah. Yeah alright.” he nodded, pulling free. “So what, we stand around and wait? Start a circle jerk?”

The guy laughed. “Tempting, but I think she said you were supposed to meet her in Goodneighbor.”

It was a little annoying that there were so many damn witnesses to _that_ moment between them; when he thought back on it later, Hancock would continue to ignore them. But he had to admit, the guy was making a good point. “Yeah…think I’ll take a stroll, cool my head.” Hancock muttered, turning away from the contraption and the now-busted, smoking generators. He could be back in Goodneighbor in a few days, have the Watch keep an eye out…and then just wait.

“Just keep strong Mr. Mayor; she’ll be back, you’ll see.” the guy called after him.

Deacon watched the ghoul retreat.

“You actually believe what comes out of your mouth sometimes?” Glory asked.

“Sometimes.” he said glibly.

“How about just then?” she demanded as a couple of Tourists showed up to start scrapping the platform and the rest of the set-up. Couldn’t leave it standing up like a beacon for every BoS piece-of-shit or Raider with at least one eye open--or even worse, the Institute itself. The thing about cracking a door was that it wasn’t just letting you look out; something could always look in too.

He pulled a box out of the pocket on his shirt, thumbing it open and grabbing one of the toothpicks, taking it to his mouth to sublimate the urge to smoke that’d popped up hard and mean. “What’s the fun in answering _that_?” Deacon joked.

Glory rolled her eyes and punched him hard in the shoulder before moving away. Her tolerance for his shtick was always pretty thin.

“You know me!” he called after her, eyes still watching the spot of red on the horizon. It was getting harder to see; the Mayor would make pretty good time at that pace. Deacon mulled over the little stick of wood in his mouth, breathing in the ozone and diesel smells.

 _If_ he were an honest guy, he’d say that was probably the last time they’d see Whisper. She’d probably died trying to get in, died right after getting in, or got locked up if neither of the first two things happened. Whisper was a tough gal, ferocious even…but this was the Institute, and they didn’t fuck around with anything resembling mercy.

 _If_ he were an honest guy, he’d admit that it made him angry; sure Whisper called him on his bullshit on the regular, rolled her eyes a lot at him…but she’d also had his back and been something pretty close to a friend. And they’d just sent her into the lions’ den with a holotape and a vague plan, just as quick as the snap of fingers.

 _If_ he were an honest guy, he’d even admit that he was going to miss the hell out of her, and not just because she packed her jeans _real_ nice.

But Deacon prided himself on never being an _honest_ guy, after all.


End file.
